


i must be good for something

by cinabrese



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Extremely Minor Descriptions of Gore, Gen, Minor Character Death, Relationship Study, but it's p minor despite being the main theme, spoiler warning: everyone blacks out once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinabrese/pseuds/cinabrese
Summary: And doesn’t he understand that. The feeling of supporting your friends, protecting them, having them at your side and at your back in a fight. Knowing that someone was happy to see you in the morning, made sure you were okay at night, and the instinctive urge to do anything to keep them safe.“No, no,” he assures Fjord. He studies the card Fjord pulled from his deck earlier and smiles to himself. He locks eyes with his friend, sees him staring earnestly at him. “It’s different when you have others to fight with, or for. Protecting your family is a powerful motivator, isn’t it?” It is for him, anyway, and he gets the feeling it’s the same for Fjord.





	i must be good for something

**Author's Note:**

> i know how to write/be one thing: dramatic
> 
> alternative title: *finishes writing* hm, did i accidentally write a songfic? *googles* hey i accidentally wrote a songfic
> 
> lyrics taken from Barns Courtney's "Sinners"
> 
> unedited r.i.p.

_**dancing on cold feet** _

Jester, for all her carefree attitude, knows when to buckle down. Being serious was never something she had trouble with, but when those around her were always serious, why should she be? Life should be taken seriously, but that didn’t mean it should be so dour. Everything in the world was trying to drag her down. She resisted. She did her best to defy life whenever she could. She did her best to bring smiles to her face and to her friends’ faces.

She also knows when those around her need a pick me up in battle. A well-timed poke or prod, feigning stupidity, making a show of something; all were invaluable in the heat of battle. Did Fjord know how he seemed to rejuvenate after one of her antics? He rolled his eyes and sighed, sure, but then after picked up his head and set his jaw, fire alight in his eyes again. Did Caleb know how ferocious his attacks became when she teased him from across the battlefield, reminding him that mundanity still existed? Did Nott know how brave she was, making bold attacks and protecting their friends, after she healed her and whispered an inane comment about their enemies to her? Did Mollymauk, Beau, Yasha know of the fierce looks that came over their faces when she ran behind them for protection, playing it up for show?

She doesn’t know. She likely never will. But she knows how much it warms her to see her friends smile as she dances around them in the street, making them forget the burdens they bear. She knows how much it pleases her when they chase her out of a shop before the shopkeep notices her rearrangement of their wares, and the way they laugh once they’re free.

She would do anything for them. She doesn’t want them to stop smiling. To stop laughing.

But she knows when to put that aside. When the battle is raging and they’re barely hanging on. When things are becoming desperate. She bottles up her laughter and steels herself.

From where she is hidden she observes the battle around her. Her blood pounds in her ears, and everything has fallen silent as adrenaline courses through her veins. The shadows hide her, but they are of no help to Nott, who cries out silently as an arrow catches her in her shoulder. Beau and Mollymauk fight back to back, both wounded and badly bleeding, surrounded by enemies. Yasha fights by herself, lost to a rage and ignoring her wounds. Caleb puts himself in front of Nott, though he himself is looking worse for the wear and never had the best constitution amongst them. Fjord is a little ways off from where she is, used to, by now, her disappearing in the midst of battle.

Her friends are struggling, and she herself is no better. Blood warms her side from where a sword caught her earlier. Her vision swims, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can stay standing. She bites her cheek as Beau is hit upside the head by a quarterstaff, and Mollymauk snarls as she blinks in a daze, catching another blow to her ribs. Fjord is trying to cut his way towards Nott and Caleb, teeth bared, but his movements are sluggish.

She knows what she has to do. She closes her eyes and whispers a prayer to the Traveler. The shadows won’t help her in a moment, she knows, when she paints herself as a target for everyone on the battlefield.

The shadows fall away and blinding light erupts from her hands as she clutches her holy symbol. She reaches out, feels the lives of her friends, and sighs with relief as she feels life restored to them. For a moment she sees Caleb, wide-eyed, reaching out with a hand and a shout, focusing on something behind her, and Nott next to him, pulling her crossbow up in slow motion. She locks eyes with Fjord, staring at her in disbelief, and she smiles.

Something strikes the back of her head in the next moment, and she is falling.

* * *

  _ **lions sit in solemn lines** _

Mollymauk sucks in a breath as he ducks around the wall. He clutches his side, wincing at the touch; he definitely has broken ribs. Glancing around the wall he curses when he sees the others across the battlefield from him. He had run after the leader of the bandits but now he found himself cut off from his party by the rest of the outlaws.

He hisses as something flies past his face and quickly moves back behind the rock. He sinks down against the wall, mind racing as he tries to formulate a plan to get himself safely across the town without taking too much damage from their enemies. The town’s fortified wall sits to his left, impassable, and to his right is the town center, burning, barricaded. The bandits and rogues terrorizing Kallenwald line the streets, fighting his party, or sit in abandoned houses and the watchtower, steadily raining arrows down on them. The wound on his side pulses; he really needs to reach Jester.

“You are amazing, Molly, really.”

Mollymauk blinks, looks up, and grins. “Yasha, dear, you have impeccable timing. How do you do that?”

Yasha gives him a bland look and peers around the corner. “I leave you alone for a minute and you’re wounded and separated from everyone else,” she sighs.

“Really, though, how do you always manage to find us?” Mollymauk continues, chattering away.

“All right,” is the only response he gets. She scuttles around until she’s in front of him. “Let’s go.

“Go where-- gods, Yasha!” Mollymauk cries as he’s suddenly lifted off the ground. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

He doesn’t get a response. She darts around the rock and they are in the midst of the fight. Bandits snarl and redirect their attention to them, swinging weapons as she runs past. She pays them no mind; her only thoughts are of Mollymauk. She curls around him as she runs and twists so that she bears the brunt of damage and Mollymauk does not.

Her guide was, at times, fickle. It lead her astray just as much as it guided her. But she silently thanked whoever was looking out for her that she was lead here. That she got to Mollymauk before anything dire happened. Gods know that he had a penchant for trouble, and little skill at getting out of it.

Brightly colored movement catches her eye amidst the flames of the burning buildings. Jester, or her duplicate, jumps and waves She ducks under the swing of a longsword, winces as a quarterstaff catches her in the back, and angles toward Jester’s duplicate. The image leads them through the streets, and they must have retaken one of the watchtowers, because the duplicate disappears at the base. She hisses as something slashes her calf, but pushes onward, ignoring Mollymauk’s cries of worry.

The bandit archers have noticed them now, she realizes when the first arrow hits. She is climbing up the ladder to the wall, still clutching Mollymauk like a ragdoll, when it slams into her shoulder. She grunts, but readjusts her hold on Mollymauk and continues.

The second, third, and fourth arrow riddle her back and she curses as she feels her rage leaving her. The adrenaline that has been pumping through her leaves, and she can feel herself growing exhausted because of it as she comes down from the high. More bolts bury themselves in her back, but she pushes on, needing to see Mollymauk safe, needing to get him out of there. Her rage may have left her, but she focuses her mind on this one thing, driving herself further.

Finally, they reach the top of the wall. She slings Mollymauk up over the edge with a pained groan, and she barely hears her friends talking through the ringing in her ears. Before she has time to haul herself over the lip of the wall a bolt sinks into her back, and she gasps as blood bubbles around her mouth.

Someone pulls her over the edge, and black dots swarm her vision when she hits the stone floor. She coughs as blood trickles down her throat, and the last thing she sees is Mollymauk, safe, looking down at her. She sighs and closes her eyes.

* * *

  _ **fortune, fortune, smiling fate**_

“Duck!” Fjord yells, shoving Beauregard down as a blast of fire erupts behind them and shoots over their heads. The pyrohydra chasing them shrieks and he lunges forward, barely rolling out of the way as a head snaps at them. An instant later he’s back on his feet, firing off at the hydra and continuing to run away.

The falchion feels heavy in his hand. He glances at it as they run, remembering a past conversation. “Consume,” the sword had said. He assumed it meant for him to consume. But…did it work the other way?

He reaches out to his blade. It stirs at his contact, and it takes everything he has to just run and not fall while focused on it. _Yes?_ the blade asks. It’s curious, he can sense it. He’s never reached out to it like this before.

The hydra is gaining on them; they’ll never outrun it. They weren’t expecting it, not after finishing off the pack of dogs they were sent to take care of for coin. The dogs had been fiercer than anticipated; magically touched in some way, and he is _definitely_ going to be having a conversation with the townspeople when they get back.

If they got back.

They’re tired, not up to full strength. They barely had a moment’s rest between the dogs and the pyrohydra. Beauregard shoves him down now as another blast of fire sears overhead, but he is too entranced to thank her or say anything otherwise.

The blade in his hand hums as he finishes speaking to it. Anticipation and excitement pulses through it, and an inkling of dread settles in his stomach. But before he can second guess himself he shoves Beauregard ahead, putting all his strength into moving her forward, stops, turns to face the hydra, and plants his feet.

Though nothing happens that can be seen, he feels as if he is pummeled by waves and slowly dragged underwater. His lungs fill, but he can still breathe. His eyes shine like sun filtered through waves. The waves pound in his veins, against his skin, threatening and crashing. The crescendo builds until it is roaring inside him, and he grips the falchion as he bares his teeth in a feral grin. The raw power emanating from the sword thrills him, and he lets go of the dread.

He will protect his friends. They will be safe. He trusts they will bring him back.

He lets the sword consume him.

* * *

  _ **down and out, and out of luck** _

They spend most of their time penniless and broke; it was no shock they took the job. A dragon’s hoard, there for the taking, so long as you could sneak in and sneak out.

Nott could sneak.

Her friends, not so much.

She whips her head around at the slightest of sounds; the light ting of metal on metal. Her eyes snap to the offending item. A ring slides down the pile of precious trinkets and coin, damning them as it goes. Following its path finds Caleb, wincing, and Jester covering her mouth as she watches the ring fall. The cleric looks up and meets her eyes, wide-eyed, and then looks at the dragon.

The sleeping, hulking beast cracks an eye open.

Nott’s heart stops as the dragon lifts its head. Rumbles echo throughout the chamber and her chest as it yawns with a hiss and begins to swing its head around toward the sound of the falling ring. Slowly, ever so slowly, the dragon crawls over its hoard. It’s not on alert and searching for them, Nott realizes. It knows they’re here. It’s playing with them.

A few more seconds and the beast will be on top of her friends and they’ll be trapped with nowhere to go. A few more seconds and they’ll be at the mercy of the hulking monster.

There is no decision.

She scrambles up the pile near her, and the sound of metal makes the dragon stop and snap its head around towards her.

“Nott!” Caleb screams, hoarse and desperate, and there’s a grunt of pain as he smacks someone away from him. “What are you doing?” She glances over at the rest of the party. Caleb is being held back by Fjord and Mollymauk. Good.

She raises her crossbow and fire off a bolt before the dragon can do anything more than narrow its eyes and sneer at her.

The chamber shakes with the roar and becomes almost unbearably hot as it lets loose a breath of fire toward the ceiling of the cavern.

It looks at her, huffing and snarling, one eye squinted shut and bleeding.

 _Hurry,_ she thinks. _I’ve bought you time_. The dragon lunges for her, mouth open to reveal rows of teeth half the size of her, and she throws her arms up to cover her head instinctively, taking a gasping breath.

* * *

  _ **i'll be drinking late with you**_

Mollymauk wonders, sometimes, about what came before the carnival. No one has bothered to ask him about it since their time in Trostenwald; they know him well enough by now to be satisfied waiting until he’s ready to bring it forward himself. (Caleb, on the other hand, he pities; Beau never did let his breakdown in the Alfield mines go until they dragged his past out of him, piece by piece. In the end though, he thinks Caleb was better for it. Some things did better with air.)

He wonders, though, as he listens to Fjord talk, as he forms his next words in his mind, if the concept of family was as important to him then as it is to him now. It must have been. It is integral to who he is. He can’t imagine any form of himself missing that piece.

“It’s easier to get up knowing you’ve got other people depending on you,” Fjord’s saying. “It’s easier to get up knowing you’ve got other people depending on you. Not that i don’t think the rest of you can take care of yourselves!” He chuckles as the half-orc almost falls over himself to make sure he didn’t offhandedly offend any of them. “Any one of you could give me a run for my money in a fight,” he continues. “It’s just...hard to explain.”

And doesn’t he understand that. The feeling of supporting your friends, protecting them, having them at your side and at your back in a fight. Knowing that someone was happy to see you in the morning, made sure you were okay at night, and the instinctive urge to do anything to keep them safe.

“No, no,” he assures Fjord. He studies the card Fjord pulled from his deck earlier and smiles to himself. He locks eyes with his friend, sees him staring earnestly at him. “It’s different when you have others to fight with, or for. Protecting your family is a powerful motivator, isn’t it?” It is for him, anyway, and he gets the feeling it’s the same for Fjord.

“Family,” Fjord says after a moment. “Yeah,” he drawls, “I guess that is a pretty good motivator.”

He grins at the words and shuffles Fjord’s card back into the deck before stowing the cards away in his coat. “Indeed,” he agrees, settling the chair back on all four legs. He stretches and yawns, the events of the day finally catching up with him, and leans down to press a kiss to Fjord’s forehead. “Well, I’m heading up. See you soon?” Fjord nods. “Don’t stay up too late, young man.” Fjord simply chuffs a laugh and makes a shooing motion.

He doesn’t make it to the stairs. Before he even reaches the bar the door to the tavern bangs open, and in an instant he whirls around to face the intruder and Fjord leaps to his feet.

She looks wretched; pale-faced, washed out, dark under her eyes, and hair a mess. A wild expression graces her gaunt features, and her eyes rove around the near-empty room. “I don’t mean no harm,” she says, voice shaking, “but you,” she gestures to the innkeeper’s son behind the bar, “give me your till.” The boy begins to protest, and the woman’s hands begin to glow with magic.

“Hey,” he says lowly, moving toward her. Her eyes snap to him and she raises her hands. He stops, holding up his own hands placatingly, and lowers his head while keeping his eyes on the woman. “You don’t want to do this,” he tells her in what he knows is a soothing voice. Toya always drifted off when he held her on their bad nights and spoke like that, just chattering about nothing until she fell asleep and he talked himself into unconsciousness.

The woman, a girl, really, shakes her head harshly. “I need this. If I get him this he’ll help her. I need this,” she babbles.

He moves forward again, slowly. He’s unarmed; his blades are in the room he’s sharing with Fjord. “Molly,” Fjord hisses from where he stands, hands clenched at his side, no doubt ready to call his falchion at a moment’s notice. But he ignores the warning and continues to talk to the girl.

“Who’s “he”? What is he going to help with? Tell me; we can figure this out together,” he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear.

She looks at him, flicks her gaze behind him, to Fjord, braced and ready, to the innkeeper’s quaking son, and he realizes, too late, that desperation has won long before.

The light around her hands flares, illuminating her drawn face into contrasting shadows, and a bolt fires into his chest.

* * *

  _ **we're spinning but the needle's stuck**_

“You don’t have to do this,” comes a murmur from behind her. Beauregard pauses in rewrapping her hands and arms. Caleb stands in the doorway of the little room she was given to prepare in. She’s not surprised someone came to talk her out of it, but is surprised that it’s him. She’d expected Fjord.

“What else are we going to do?” she asks, turning back around to focus on methodically twisting the cloth around her wrist, around her hand, between her fingers, around her hand, around her wrist. Caleb says nothing, just moves to sit beside her on the bench.

“We can figure it out. There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger alone like this.” His accent is more pronounced in his agitation.

She clenches her jaw. “I can take care of myself.”

Caleb sighs. “That’s not-” he breaks off, takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to see you get hurt because of this.”

She grits her teeth now, then forces herself to relax her muscles. No use in getting a headache before a fight. She’s not angry at Caleb. She’s upset at the circumstances. She’s upset that the Academy rejected Fjord, she’s upset that the only other organization with the information they need is this shady group of information dealers whose boss already hates them.

“I get hurt all the time. We all do,” she says, dropping her hands to her lap to look at Caleb.

He shrugs. “They’re not going to fight fair.”

She stands, swings her arms above her head, and stretches. “No one ever really fights fair,” she tells him. Caleb follows suit and stands, and they begin to walk out of the room. “I’ll just stay on my toes.”

Caleb smiles weakly at her, and then they have joined the others. Mollymauk claps her shoulder when she walks up. “There’s the woman of the hour! Fight well, I may have placed a few bets on you.” He _tsks_. “If only Yasha were here.”

“Hey,” she protests indignantly. “I might not hit as hard but I can pack a punch.”

Jester slips in between them and smiles. “Of course you can!” she chirps. “That’s why I bet all my money on you!”

“Uh--”

Before anyone can say anything else she’s bustled off to the roped off area they were to fight in. Someone hands her a drink, and she gladly takes a few swallows, wipes her mouth off, and steps into the ring. Her opponent does the same on the opposite side of the ring. She vaguely recognizes the man. Small but lithe, she was pretty sure the half-elf had been with the boss when they had their first run in. Nott had tried to pick the pockets of the syndicate leader, been caught, and then Jester, as Jester was wont to do, unwittingly insulted the man. Hence the already present dislike. They needed information and the syndicate had it; they would give them the opportunity to make a deal if she beat the enforcer in a fight.

Someone shouts and the world narrows to the man in front of her. They circle each other, sizing each other up and studying their movements.

The half-elf seems content to do nothing, and she strikes first. It’s nothing, a lazy testing punch, and the half-elf easily deflects it with his forearm. After that, though, the fight begins in earnest. The half-elf lunges for her and she dodges left, sliding her foot out to catch him off balance, but he deftly shifts to his other foot and lifts the targeted one above her leg.

They trade a few more blows then back off, circling the ring and each other once again. She shakes her head as she walks. The adrenaline must be getting to her; her vision is sliding in and out of focus, making her dizzy.

The half-elf must notice that her thoughts are elsewhere because the next thing she knows he’s in her space. It’s all she can do to block the foot swinging for her head. Her head swims and she tries to focus on the man in front of her. He pulls back his right arms, and she pulls her arms together to block, but her movements feel sluggish and his fist clips her block and catches her cheek. Sharp but not intolerable pain blossoms but she keeps her feet.

She moves away, trying to get space to clear her mind. Distantly she hears her friends yelling. She blinks, and the half-elf is there. A leg slams into the meaty side of her body under her ribs and she grunts. Before she can take a breath a fist is jammed into her gut, forcing the breath out of her, and she gasps as her chest heaves as she tries to breathe.

Her legs are swiped out from underneath her and she hits the floor without bracing herself. Somehow she manages to pull herself to her knees and fends off a sweeping kick to her head without realizing what she’s doing.

Far away some part of her mind realizes what’s happening. The syndicate never intended to make a deal with them. The fight was rigged.

Her vision is pulled into sharp focus for a moment, and she catches a glimpse of the half-elf before she loses it. He leans back onto his left leg, right pulling back and to the side to gain momentum. She tries to sink onto her thighs as far as she can, pull her arms up to block, but whatever was in the water has inhibited her movements. She can’t move in time.

The half-elf’s foot slams into her head with a resounding _crack_.

* * *

  _ **marching on cobble streets**_

They’re lunatics, Caleb had once thought. They still are, he thinks, but now he has to include himself in that sentiment; they’ve built themselves a home in his heart, and, against his better judgement, he’s let them stay.

“This sucks,” Jester groans from where she stands next to him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, reaching into his coat to pull out a book. The maniacal priests surround them, and Beau is the first to lash out with a yell and a feral grin. Yasha joins her, followed by the flash of Molly’s sword, and, okay, they’re doing this.

He and Jester retreat as far away from the devotees as they can; they’ve had time to learn that they do better away from the thick of things. Jester calls her spiritual weapon, and in no time has joined the fray from afar. He stands beside her, arm thrown out to direct a spell toward an enemy. Around them their friends are locked in battle with the priests and their monstrosities. They’re a well oiled machine at this point. Mollymauk dances in between enemies; Nott’s arrows flying around him keeping time. Fjord takes a swing with his falchion; when the attack leaves him open Beauregard is there, defending his side, and Yasha steps in to fill the gap and crush the sick looking dog snapping at them.

A yelp from Jester brings him out of the focus battle always puts him in. Her cloak is singed, and she stumbles as she moves back, tripping and falling prone as a priest advances on her.

Red seeps into his vision at the thought of this man hurting his friend. He will not allow that to happen. He steps forward, hands alight, and mind void of thought but _protect, kill, protect, kill, protectkillprotectkillprotectkillprotectkill_.

He steps in front of Jester, and the priest doesn’t have a moment to react before he is burning. He is burning, he is screaming, the stench of hair and flesh charring is pungent in the air, but it’s fine because Jester is fine and he is burning.

“-leb! Caleb!” He jolts, blinks, and comes back to himself. Jester is staring at him, something akin to horror on her face. He looks around, sees that the fighting has ended, and a pile of still smoldering ashes rests at his feet. The rest of their party stands where they felled their last opponent, but all eyes are on him. He looks at each of them in turn, panic bubbling in his chest and throat, before looking at the ashes before him again.

“Oh, gods,” he whispers, shaking, and falls to his knees, eyes wide and chest heaving as he tries and fails to breathe properly. Images flicker through his mind, his head swims, and bile rises in his throat. Distantly, muffled, he hears someone -- Jester -- move, and he vaguely feels a hand touch his shoulder. He looks up, black dots swarming his vision, sees Jester starting at him concernedly, and passes out.

* * *

  _ **wasting beats of this heart of mine**_

It’s hot, almost uncomfortable, but no one makes a move to get up. Someone shifts, someone sighs, but, for now, they are content to just be.

The door to the room creaks open then snicks softly shut. Beau cranes her head from where she lies with Nott curled between her and Caleb and Fjord and Molly’s head rested on her hip. When she spies the intruder she immediately perks up, muscles stiffening as she pushes herself to her elbows. Molly grunts in protest as his pillow shifts but settles back down when she’s done.

“Hey,” Beau says, voice rough with quiet. Yasha smiles at her in acknowledgement; more just crinkling around her eyes than anything. As she approaches the bed they’re all sprawled out on she ducks down to kiss Molly’s forehead before slipping behind Beau and pulling her back against her. The tiefling hums in response to Yasha’s affections and cracks an eye open to look at her.

“Impeccable timing,” he comments, voice slurred with sleepiness. “Arrived just in time for the good part.” Yasha chuckles, and Beau feels the reverberations. She relaxes further into Yasha, who leans against the headboard, and rests her hands on top of Yasha’s where they rest on her stomach.

Disgruntled at the loss of warmth from Beau’s arm around her, Nott sits up and scrambles over Beau’s legs to plop down next to Jester near the foot of the bed. The tiefling, without opening her eyes, stretches her arms out and makes grabbing motions toward Nott, who tucks herself into Jester’s embrace without complaint. Jester exhales, breath ruffling Nott’s hair, and rests her chin on top of Nott’s head.

Mollymauk turns his head on Beau’s hip to look at Yasha, but when he goes to sit up to reposition himself his horns catch on the sashes around her waist. “Careful!” Beau snaps, but it lacks the bite it would usually have, coming out more as a tired warning.

“Why do you have so much damned cloth?” Molly hisses and he reaches to untangle himself.

“You’re one to talk,” Beau fires back. “With that coat of yours-”

“But I’m not wearing it right now, am I?”

“Quit your gripin’,” Fjord rumbles from the other end of the bed. His legs lie flush with Beau’s legs, his head past her feet near Jester, and Caleb settled between his legs and head on his chest. One arm is slung over the wizard’s lower back while the other absentmindedly toys with his hair. Caleb, for once, is out cold. He snores lightly, nothing like Jester’s raucous whistling when _she’s_ in deep sleep, and they’re reminded that these piles are one of the only times Caleb relaxes enough to sleep so soundly.

Beau and Molly grumble their apologies, weakly glaring at each other, and Yasha scoots from her half sitting position to lie in between Beau and Molly as he resituates himself with his head near theirs.

“Really glad to see you,” Molly murmurs on Yasha’s other side. Beau hums her agreement, pressing her head into Yasha’s shoulder. Fjord’s hand has stilled in Caleb’s hair, and the only noise from Jester and Nott was the low sound of Jester’s breathing before it worked up into a full snore. Beau sighs contently and begins to drift off.

Yasha tucks her left arm up so she can stroke Molly’s hair with the tips of her fingers while her right arm, pinned under Beau, holds the other woman close as she lays half on top of Yasha’s chest. “Of course,” she says softly. “Can’t stay away from my family.”

 

_**until the morning comes around** _

**Author's Note:**

> if you read my fjord oneshot the first part of molly's bit should sound familiar :3c
> 
> "em accidentally writes a 7+1 and a songfic"  
> "7 times the mighty nein were knocked out and 1 time they fell asleep"
> 
> everyone's lyrics were picked bc they gave me a Feeling, no real specific reason
> 
> these parts were written broken up, so if the tone differs from part to part, i apologize, but that's why. i kinda wrote as the knock out idea for each person came to me. ALSO some parts were written weeks ago, so there might be some new info/development that seems like it would be relevant but is left out
> 
> beau's part gave me SO MUCH TROUBLE. i had no idea what to do to knock her out. but i had a plotline for an origfic loosely based on a scene from arslan senki, so i used the arslan senki fight as inspiration for her part. (thanks, daryun)  
> (beau's part gave me trouble in fjord's fic too, and yet somehow her parts end up being the longest. sigh.)
> 
> i really love this song and the first time i heard it i KNEW i had to something m9 related. this would've been posted way earlier if not for a certain monk who didn't want to get knocked out. (seriously, everyone else was done and written out. i wrote the last scene (unplanned) before i wrote beau's)
> 
> i HIGHLY recommend listening to barns courtney. i love his songs and his voice. i already have two plot ideas based on two other songs of his (champion and kicks), but idk if they'll be a full fic or if i'll do a series of small oneshots. if i ever get around to writing them, that is
> 
> please kudo and comment! i love hearing your feedback :)  
> if you've got suggestions for a fic, drop them by my tumblr! i'm super busy right now but i'm always open to suggestions
> 
> tumblr @knightingale-s!!


End file.
